


Rum highballs and light pollution

by GucciRhymesWithDucky



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, Frottage, Hot Tub Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Robot Sex, Wealth Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GucciRhymesWithDucky/pseuds/GucciRhymesWithDucky
Summary: Maximilien brings Baptiste back to his penthouse, and the lavish capitalist overindulgence doesn't stop there.
Relationships: Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Maximilien (Overwatch)
Kudos: 7





	Rum highballs and light pollution

The look on Baptiste's face was that of a man who had never in his life been flown by private helicopter to a penthouse suite before, but was trying valiantly to swallow his boylike awe. He was so endearingly provincial. Maximilien could have smiled.

The evening's pleasantries were no less breezy because they were pleasantries. The talk was expectedly banal. Baptiste had a sob story; they all did. The orphanages he and his cousins bounced between, separated and reunited by intervals, after the first omnic assault on Port-de-Paix destroyed his home and left them all parentless. The baby nieces and nephews to whom he sent home most of his pay, the clinic he hoped to one day fund. Words, too, were currency, and Maximilien filed into his directory all the most relevant information Baptiste surrendered. He had already forgotten the man's relations' names.

"I imagined someone with your history would hold more of a grudge against omnics," Maximilien said. "There are enough who hate us for more trivial reasons."

Baptiste was caught enough off his guard to answer honestly: "I can't hate a hot omnic who's signing my paychecks." A beat passed. He'd enough decorum to look mortified.

"I appreciate your honesty." Maximilien chortled mirthlessly, pouring Baptiste a drink and passing it to him over the marble bartop. A deer-in-the-headlights expression broke upon his face, glancing between the glass and Maximilien's chrome visage as if convinced he was being tricked. Not a handsome look on him at all. "Enjoying my generosity is no faux pas." Maximilien leaned over the bar. "Drink."

Baptiste drank. And it pleased Maximilien, in a vicarious way, to watch the man savor those indulgences reserved for humans—canapés flaked with gold leaf, rum highballs poured with Don Rumbotico Especial Blanco. (Three drinks in he stopped him, because Maximilien meant to get much more pleasure out of tonight than the _vicarious._ )

Three drinks were enough to shear Baptiste of his self-consciousness; he moved from the bar to the adjoining balcony and sank into the hot tub. Maximilien followed him to seat himself on a sun chair, watching the water and the sweat drip condense on the man's chest, on his glistening brow. The sun had long ago sunk behind the city skyline. The starless sky had an orange haze.

Carefully, carefully, Maximilien slunk out of his smoking jacket, his trousers—wearing nothing underneath. Baptiste should know well enough this habit of his. Yet when Maximilien sauntered to the edge of the tub, his eyes blew wide, with surprise as much as hunger, and, as Maximilien sank into the water, with a touch of alarm.

"Is there a problem?"

"I sort of—" The liquor slowed Baptiste's tongue. "I didn't… figure you were waterproof."

Maximilien would not dignify that presumption with a reply. But if it must be known, his chassis was watertight. And if the heat threatened to bring his core processors' temperature to dangerous levels, it behooved him to be cautious, that was all.

He slid near to Baptiste's side. He watched the minute twitches of his eyelids, the expression below his projected coolness, volleying between want and uncertainty. "Do you know why I go to this effort for you, Lieutenant?" A trivial matter to pitch his voice low enough, to layer it just enough with the vibrato of lust, to dispel his uncertainty.

"I assumed 'because you're trying to get laid' was a given." He grinned like his remark was witty.

"I am. And it is. And I thought we need not voice the obvious." Tightly controlled, his voice betrayed not a sliver of annoyance. Baptiste's Adam's apple bobbed when Maximilien welcomed himself astride his thighs. "But I hope, too, to make you realize your loyalty does not go unappreciated."

The guarding shroud drew over Baptiste's gaze again. Still he tried to joke: "Do you give the sugar daddy treatment to all your favorite foot troopers, then?" Still he could not resist frotting the tent in his trunks against Maximilien.

Maximilien hummed right past the question. "I think it is easy for us to make a great deal of unconditional loyalty—to _demand_ a great deal of loyalty—and offer little in return. A convenient lie to perpetuate, because it demands we do little but preach." He slipped his hand down Baptiste's front. As it grazed his chest, his nipples stood stiff and taut—as it slid down his belly, he sucked it in with a breath—as it opened the waistband of his shorts, he arched his hips to free his erection from the fabric, grinding onto Maximilien's fingers, a static crackle of sensation amplified by the roiling water.

Maximilien said, "Certainly, I appreciate the frugality of such a lie." The fingers of his free hand cupped Baptiste's chin and guided shut his open mouth, with a graze of his thumb over his lower lip. As pretty a mouth as he had, the slack-jawed look did not suit him, not when he was not on his knees. "But I am also a pragmatist… I recognize that, from time to time, we do well to materially reinforce the loyalty of our soldiers."

He settled in close against Baptiste's solid bulk—chest to chest, flirting with the heat of danger to purr into the man's ear, "You are also a pragmatist, Lieutenant, so I know you and I understand one another. Don't we?" Baptiste's chin trembled. Whatever he meant to say, Maximilien silenced him with a steel cock, warmed by the water, thick, smooth, _unyielding,_ sliding against his trembling one and pulling from between his lips a shivering exhalation.

Yes, he would do well to be… cautious.

**Author's Note:**

> So this must be why he bought the whole rum distillery.
> 
> For the prompt "100 words of Daddy Dollars/little guy," which cracked me the fuck up.


End file.
